


Clean

by SaphireCorona



Series: Devour the Pure & Divine [4]
Category: The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:56:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28962792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaphireCorona/pseuds/SaphireCorona
Summary: Chastity waltzes in on Negan taking a "shower", trashy chaos ensues.
Relationships: Negan (Walking Dead)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Devour the Pure & Divine [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1856719
Kudos: 6





	Clean

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with another crass, crude, trash piece of writing. 
> 
> I've ALWAYS wanted to write something centered on the prisoner Negan shower scene from the comics because it's just my favorite thing in the world and it always cracks me up.
> 
> So, here we are.
> 
> I know I keep bouncing around with the timeline in this series so THIS particular tidbit would take place right after 'Service' and, of course, before 'Blizzard'. 
> 
> This isn't my best work but I just needed something to work on that wasn't homework or research and I wanted something a little light-hearted too I guess. I don't fucking know. I'm just fucking tired of making seismic velocity models and I need a goddamn break. 
> 
> Anywho, read away, if you so desire!

“Chastity is that you?!” Olivia’s voice called to me from the basement the moment my left foot creaked against the staircase as I attempted to silently saunter out of my room and to the kitchen for something to eat. 

Currently, Olivia was supplying Alexandria’s prisoner with the opportunity to bathe himself by the rudimentary tactics of a bucket of lukewarm water, half a sponge, and some bright blue dish soap. All the while, she'd keep the barrel end of a pistol trained on his chest to keep him from trying anything. I thought the lengths they went to to ensure he had little to no chance of hurting anyone while still fulfilling his basic human needs were a bit ridiculous but, as usual, I didn’t have much say in the matter. 

I winced and groaned at the fact that she had heard me and was undoubtedly asking for my help. I should’ve stayed in my damn room and starved to death. 

I’d been actively avoiding the basement, and namely _him_ , for the past couple weeks; a most unusual circumstance for me. I hadn’t woken up this morning with the intention of breaking that routine, but Olivia seemed to have an unwarranted gift of forcing Negan and me together through incidental circumstances. 

It’s not that I didn’t want to see him because I really did. He had been on my mind every other second since he’d spent half the night doing some carnal, lascivious, unchaste things to me in my bed for the first, and presumably last time, sixteen days ago...not that I was keeping count. In all honesty, though, I didn’t know how I could face him without my face lighting up like a city center Christmas tree in the dead of night.

My dad had certainly appreciated my abrupt change of heart when he came back from the Hilltop to find me avoiding the basement door like the plague. But I was constantly wondering if I was being missed or if my absence was even noticed. I told myself that the man of my scandalous dreams probably wouldn’t’ve cared if I moved to Oceanside, gotten picked clean by a pack of walkers, or simply ignored his existence until one of us died.

But I secretly really hoped he _would_ have cared. 

I ran my hand down the side of my face to keep from pulling on my hair and let out a terse sigh that she couldn’t hear. “Yeah,” I inched closer to the open door once I got off the stairwell. “You need something?” I called down to her. Somewhere in my mind, I pictured her being held hostage by a stern glare, used as a pawn to trick me into facing my fears. 

“Could you come help me really quick?” I could tell by the snap of her usually self-effacing voice that she was slightly agitated by the fact that I just didn’t come down to see what she wanted. “Please?” After a moment of silence, she decided to maintain her polite disposition. 

I debated on running out and grabbing the first person I saw on the streets to help her since my dad was, unsurprisingly, gone again, but I knew I’d have to see him _eventually._ Might as well just get it over with. 

“Goddammit, why me?” I whispered to myself as I trudged down through the gates of hell with lead feet to announce my acquiescence. 

When my socks finally met the concrete, I halfway stumbled back onto the last stair while covering my eyes with my hand pressed firmly against my face. “Oh, Jesus Christ!” 

He stood outside of his cell, front and center with nothing but a few drops of sudsy water on him, towel in hand but nowhere near where it should’ve been.

Unbothered by the audience afforded to him, he donned a heart-stopping, knee buckling, cocky grin for me to see when I parted my fingers enough to look through. “That’s the first time a gal has called me that when she saw me naked.” he chuckled provocatively. I almost rolled my eyes straight back to my bedroom. 

Sure, I’d seen...all of him that night but out in the open, _with Olivia here_ , just felt criminal. 

Olivia seemed just as flustered as me, if not more so. Still, my mind’s eye narrowed possessively in her direction. I had no claim to him, but I still didn’t like entertaining the idea of her checking him out.

She kept the gun pointed at him while pointing her eyes to the ceiling to preserve herself. “Would you cover that up already?!” she half ordered, half pleaded, her voice breaking into panicked pitches of forthcoming traumatization. 

He scoffed at our prudish behavior. “You ladies act like you’ve never seen a fucking work of goddamn art before.” Like a child getting dragged out of a toy store, he begrudgingly wrapped the kitchy, lilac-colored, flower embroidered towel around his waist. Though, with his long legs, it looked more like a kitchen rag. He kept it low enough where I could see the lines that his hips created, leading to his self proclaimed assets (and in his defense, from head to toe, he _was_ a work of art). “Well, I’m sure _one_ of you has,” holding his index finger up to keep count, he corrected himself with a furtive, suggestive glance in my direction. 

Promptly ignoring him and the fact that he was professing our sins to the open but oblivious air, I averted my gaze to someone who was fully clothed. “What did you need, Olivia?” I tried my best to keep my voice unaffected by his presence, but it shook like fists pounding on a closed door.

She didn’t seem to notice my fidgeting or the way my eyes kept flickering to his bare skin. “Can you watch him? I’ll just be a minute. I need to go grab some more water.” Judging by the upturned bucket and small pond of water enveloping her tennis shoes, she must have tipped his only source of water over before he finished his work. 

Releasing the tension from my body with a sigh, I nodded. “Yeah...I guess.” Like I had much of a choice now. 

"Thanks. I'll be right back," she handed me the squirt gun sized pistol she had been using to keep him in line as if me pointing the barrel at him would prevent him from escaping. He could overpower me ten times over. Parts of my body still ached from where he had pinned me down against my bed with a single hand, or even a look, a few weeks ago.

After using both hands to grab the rusted metal bucket, she stepped around me to begin the long journey upstairs to the bathroom so she could refill it with enough hot water for her to easily carry back down. I’d be trapped with him for a good ten minutes at the very least. 

As soon as she was out of sight, I tucked the gun behind my belt in the small of my back and stuffed the tips of my fingers into my jean pockets. "Hey," I began ineptly, glancing around him rather than directly at him. 

“Long time no see, _baby,_ ” he let the last word fall from his tongue with a sickly rich smile that made it impossible not to look at him just to get a better look at the picture he was composing. He was gorgeous, as per usual. Immediately, my cheeks were set ablaze by his pet name on account of the events associated with it. “If I didn’t know any fucking better, I’d say you’ve been avoiding me.” Oh, so he did care.

“No, I...” restless at the sight of him, my eyes circumvented his frame a half dozen more times before I settled on his face...then to the tattoo on his chest. By the time I was halfway down his body, I think my breathing had hit an all-time low as I became too transfixed on appreciating him to think about maintaining consciousness. 

I wanted to touch him...there was something tortuously addictive in feeling his muscles flexing beneath my hands when he was on top of me. (Running my fingers through his hair was its own kind of ecstasy.) He just _felt_ good, like a fleece blanket fresh from the dryer. I could lose myself in him. That night, I had. So many times I lost count. 

He snapped his fingers to bring my attention back to the present. When my eyes shot to his still damp face, he grinned. “You...what?” he tried to pry an answer out of me. I winced when I realized I had cut the inside of my lip from longingly biting into it. The taste of an iron wine flooded my mouth shortly thereafter, and I had to swallow a few times to get rid of it. Part of me wanted him all over again. The other half couldn’t seem to find its way over the wall of uncertainty I’d built up. 

For all the time I spent fantasizing about being back in his arms, I dwelled on how tremendously wrong it was just as much. The first time was reckless, impetuous, selfish, and driven by a lust I never knew I had. If I did it again, however, I’d be at the mercy of the consequences from my ill-placed desires. 

I sighed louder than necessary and shook my head before looking at the small river of soapy water that had been making a straightaway for the toe of my socks. “I haven’t been avoiding you.” I let my feet splash around in the sudsy puddle as I tried to find the best truth to tell him. I hated wearing wet socks, but I hated hearing even a modicum of disappointment in his voice even more. “I’ve just been...busy.” I lied through my teeth because I was too proud, or maybe embarrassed, to admit that I didn't have the first clue on how relationships or...sex...worked.

Should I have come down to see him the morning after? Would that have made me look overzealous, naive, or needy? Was I supposed to wait for him to make the first move? (Whatever that would have been. Banging on the pipes, knocking morse code against the ceiling?) 

I’d never felt so uncertain.

The fact that he was a forty-something-year-old prisoner serving a life sentence for homicide in my basement didn’t make things any clearer. 

Something of a snicker escaped his mouth. “Well, we both know that’s bullshit.” He called me out before I could think of another pitiful excuse. In any case, he knew me well enough to know what I did on a daily basis. “What?” He grabbed a corner of his towel and lifted it up to dry his face, flashing me again. I didn’t work as hard to avert my eyes this time. “Was the sex that bad?” He had to have been joking. What was I saying? Of course, he was. Granted, I didn’t exactly have anyone to compare him to but if there was anything that could give someone the will to live, it was what he could do with his hands...and his tongue, and well, you know. 

“No, no!” I promptly answered, though it didn’t feel sufficient. “God, no.” I took a few steps towards him so I wouldn’t have to speak so loud. “I just...I thought it was a one-night stand thing, or...something. I don’t know." I felt stupid for even saying that. He lived in my house for God’s sake. The concept of a one night stand seemed out of the question. “I didn’t think...or know if you wanted...me to visit.” My lack of confidence shone through as my hand reached across my chest to rub my shoulder as an outlet for my stress. 

“What gave you that idea?” He ran his hand through his hair and shook the droplets off his fingers afterward. A few of them landed on me, and it was as refreshing as water in a drought-ridden desert. “Was it when I said I wanted to see you again? Or when I told you we should get together more?” he did his best to hide his cheeky smile from me but failed miserably. 

Pensively, I ran my tongue along the front of my teeth. In retrospect, he never gave me any reason to believe that he didn’t want to see me but...“I thought you were just being nice.” The man could be an asshole, but he knew when to rein it in. Even so, just because I enjoyed it didn’t mean he did. I wasn’t as presumptuous as him to think that he had the time of his life. 

“That’s not what I’m known for.” 

When I replied with a sharp glare to punish his snarky attitude, I noticed he was more or less undressing me with his eyes. 

Grinning at my pouting, he digressed. “Sorry, I’m just giving you shit. Come here,” he waved his hand towards himself, not unlike the wolf in little red riding hood did to lure the poor, innocent girl into his trap. I let my arms fall back to my side and did as he requested, outwardly chagrined, inwardly elated. 

His palm met my cheek once I was within his reach. I closed my eyes for a moment as I let out a long drawn breath before I decided to look up at him. "I like you, darlin'." I could feel his smile, but he was too close for me to see it. My chest ached with tumultuous frustration. Why did he have to look, sound, feel, and taste like heaven gilded in irrefutable ruby red sin?

Before I could over-analyze his every move, he slipped his other hand around my waist so he could deliberately lean in to give me a kiss sixteen days in the making. A small jolt traversed my body the moment his lips touched mine, but he must have been anticipating it as he took a careful amount of time in letting me reacclimate to the pressure of his mouth against mine. My shoulders relaxed, and my eyes closed when I started breathing again. At the same time, his lone, slow kiss turned into two and three more. 

His touch was even better than I remembered. I damned myself for waiting so long to see him again. I, on the other hand, wasn’t sure where to touch him. I feared that my impatient, reckless hands would accidentally knock his towel off, which would probably lead to my clothes coming off, and then we’d be faced with a rather unpleasant intrusion from his impromptu caregiver.

When his tongue brushed against my lower lip in between a few increasingly fervent kisses, I stood on the tips of my toes and curled my hand around the back of his neck while my other rested against his shoulder. He kept me upright with his right hand in my hair, but I remained more focused on his left, which was halfway up my shirt, inadvertently pulling the fabric up enough for my bare skin to touch his. 

I felt a little faint from how quickly my heart was pounding, but I hadn’t felt this happy since the night we spent together. 

As always, the time we had depended solely on how long we had until someone walked in on us. Olivia had been gone for a few minutes now, and though I could hear her still fiddling around with the faucet in the bathroom, I knew the sands of time were dwindling. 

He could sense my apprehension as I struggled to pull myself away, even though I would have happily stayed here for as long as he’d have me. 

Trying to fit an hour into a minute, he rushed the words out against my mouth as he pressed me tighter against him. I could feel the drops of water on his skin soak into my clothes. It made me want to take a shower with him. The sheer thought led to a quiet moan escaping my lips. 

“When’s your dad coming back?” he had heard him leave this morning, no doubt, shouting his ‘goodbye’ and ‘be careful’ as he went through the front door at six in the morning to announce his departure.

My answer was more of a helpless cry thanks to his mouth abruptly moving to the delicate spot he had found beneath my ear so I could speak. “Tomorrow.” Tomorrow night, specifically, but anything beyond one-word answers seemed too difficult to manage.

I could feel his satisfied, impish hum against my skin. “Need some company tonight?” A little desperate, I nodded, my fingers slipping against his shoulders as I tried to keep still. If Olivia hadn’t been upstairs, I would’ve had him in my room already. “You gotta say please,” he smiled, but not in an ambrosial way. His enjoyment was undoubtedly at my expense; my inconsolable, infatuated expense. I wanted him--needed him-- more than anything, and he had built an empire on being _needed_. 

God only knows what he could and would do with me vying for his every word. 

“Please.” I didn’t care how manipulative he was acting. I would’ve gotten on my knees and begged if it meant he’d look in my direction. I’d suffer through a thousand lives just to spend an hour with him. "Please." With one word, I swore I’d never long for anything or anyone else so long as he held me just one more night.

The silvery, hushed refrain of his laugh drifted from my ear as his lips drew closer to mine; where they belonged. I would’ve kissed him again if he hadn’t spoken. “You know,” I quickly came to adore looking up from beneath my lashes to find him staring back down at me with that possessive smirk on his face, "when we first met, I spent an entire week thinking of all the ways I wanted to fuck you.” 

I bit my lip. “And?” If he had said that to me a year and a half ago, I would’ve smacked him across the face again. Now...I found it barbarically endearing.

Oh, how he had corrupted me.

He smiled like a metaphor from the greatest book I'd never read. “I ain’t gonna be through with you for a long fucking while.” 

* * *

Sometimes, I feel bad about how much I fantasize about him but then I see images like this, and I think I'm justified.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all, I cannot even begin to explain how FUCKING PUMPED I am to see Hilarie and Jeffrey working together on TWD this year. It's going to be the best fucking thing I've ever seen. We are finally getting the Negan backstory we fucking deserve! 
> 
> As a side note, I still have lots of unpublished stories about these two that I'd like to eventually get around to posting. Because I get to the Whisperers, Alpha & Negan, people getting decapitated, blah, blah, blah. Good stuff!
> 
> But I digress. If you're reading this, I hope you're well and living your best life. Keep on keepin' on.
> 
> Until the next disaster story!


End file.
